Jigsaw 2: The Cure for Cancer
by iamkramer
Summary: Fan-fiction on how Jigsaw 2 should pan out. If there is interest, I will continue the story. But for now, this begins to cover a plot-hole that was left wide-open in the Saw series, whilst leaving plenty of room for expansion. Disclaimer: Storyline created by myself and is not allowed to be copied without my permission. Some/all characters belong to their respective owners.
1. Chapter 1: HH

Chapter 1: HH

It was a dark room, like all of the others. How could it be anything but dark. The ambience skilfully designed to evoke fear and desperation in even the most resilient of players. The dimly lit entrance to the room resembled what John Kramer's soul would have looked like if he had have witnessed first-hand, the love of his life, Jill Tuck, being placed into the reverse bear-trap by non-other than the man who should have died. Mark Hoffman. Jigsaw, or John, as he preferred to be called (after all, the media invented the name Jigsaw, not John) believed everyone deserved a chance. A chance to live, a chance to be reborn; Hoffman was a cold-blooded killer, with no remorse, emotions or feelings left.

You could even go as far as to say that Hoffman was numb because of how he found her. Angelina, his sister, who was working downtown for the Metropolitan Police Dept. at the time, when she went missing. Hoffman arrived at the murder scene and it was immediately apparent who was behind it. A drugs-peddler known as Seth Baxter. Seth was a woman-beater. Those who knew him knew that it wouldn't be long before he killed something, or someone. For that reason, he had few friends - fewer people to report him, at least, that's how he saw it. You may know the rest. Hoffman was pissed that Seth was released from prison, just 5 years after the brutal slaying of his sister, who was a prime candidate for promotion at the time.

Hoffman abducted Seth and subjected him to what became known as "The Pendulum" game - except, it wasn't much of a game at all. Billy the Puppet was used to introduce the task that Seth had to perform, to save his life. Seth was required to press a button to stop the pendulum. The problem was, Seth couldn't save himself. It wasn't that he was beyond redemption - although some would argue he was, but the large steel pendulum blade that swung back and forth had no connection to the "stop" button that Hoffman had placed behind a crushing device. As he pressed the button, his fingers were systematically crushed flat whilst the pendulum continued to swing until his innards splattered around like an artist flicking a brush dipped in a deep red paint on a canvas. None of that matters now.

The darkness was terrifying. It was impossible to see anything.

"Hello?" a voice cried. The vocals echoed around what now appeared to be a chamber. The preamble of Billy the Puppet, could be heard for a split second. The hissy crackle synonymous with the deep-rooted feeling of fear reached every corner of the room. The television was fuzzy, much like when you can't get a signal with a cheap antenna - the noise was deafening - more so than any previous incarnation of a game.

"My ears! Turn it down!" begged the voice. Suddenly, Billy the Puppet appeared on-screen. A flashlight in the chamber clicked and then shone into the abductees eyes.

"Hello, Hoffman. Oh, I've been waiting for this moment for some time. Whilst you've been kept in captivity, work was being carried out so that a special trap could be designed and built just for you, should you survive your game. But you didn't just survive the game, did you, Hoffman?" Billy's mouth opened and closed at a different time to the voice. Hoffman looked, for once, almost frightened.

"What the fuck do you want? Who is this?" Hoffman attempted to say.

The video continued. "You killed my wife." Billy exclaimed, the raspy voice of John Kramer reverberating around the chamber.

"What? What the fuck? John? You're dead. Who is this?" Hoffman appeared to be grunting.

"Oh this isn't a pre-recorded video. I'm with you live and direct. The internet is a powerful thing, is it not Hoffman? Without the internet, and access to all of those computers in the force, you wouldn't have seen half of the things you did. You wouldn't have been able to lock up Seth's younger brother if you didn't use the internet to buy drugs, ship them to his house, then have his house raided after you planted them on him."

*Flashbacks occur of Hoffman on the dark web, ordering illegal drugs to Seth's 18-year-old brother. *

"You didn't think I knew about that, did you, Detective Hoffman? Your problem, is that you're rotten to the very core. There is no salvation for you. I gave you a chance. I said you wouldn't walk away untested, and you will not." John said, his gruff vocal chords grew increasingly angry as he continued with the introduction to the game.

"But for you, that wasn't enough. You wanted to hurt Seth like he hurt your sister. All those beats. So, you went after Seth's family. You cut the brakes to his mother's car, didn't you?"  
*Flashbacks occur of Hoffman cutting brakes to Seth's mom's old 80's Ford before she drove off and crashed on the freeway".

"Fuck you John. Fuck you!" - Hoffman says, muffled.

"Some would call it karma, some would call it fate. But your sister's murder was brought about by your obsession with trying to make your sister see that Seth wasn't right for her. But you know what really grinded my gears? When you killed Seth without giving him a chance to live. In my name. You almost ruined my legacy. And then… then you killed my wife, without giving her the chance to live. So, Detective Hoffman…listen, and listen very carefully when I say: I want to play a game".

*Saw music plays*

"You are wearing a reverse bear-trap. However, it has been modified so that even if you manage to stop the mechanism from ripping off your disgusting mouth for a second time, a blade hidden inside the trap will trigger and will pierce your jugular vein and you will bleed out in the cold, wet chamber you find yourself in. However, to prove I am not like you. There is a way out. To release yourself from the trap, there is a four-digit number you need to find before the clock reaches zero. Look deep into your soul and find a way for me to forgive your sins. Salvation is often referred to as a religious act. As they say, an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth. And remember, he who cast the first stone. The scriptures aren't random."

*Clock begins to count down. Billy the Puppet continually laughs*

"Arghhhhhhhhhh"

Hoffman made a dash towards the torch and grabbed it with both hands, swinging it around in desperation to see where he was and what he needed to do to survive. A full-length mirror stood to the right of him, next to the mirror stood an old, wooden table.

*Flashback to Saw II - the table was the same table that John had used to place a cup of water, prior to the Detective Matthew's assault. *

Sitting on the table was a safe which required the 4-digit pin to open, just as John had said. A set of pliers and a stone lay just below where the torch was. Just slightly to the right of the stone was a small blade, approximately 4 inches in length, glistening slightly from the torch's beam. An x-ray of Hoffman's mouth with a red 'X' on his wisdom tooth lay underneath the rock. Pliers, a stone and a blade. Hoffman began frantically thinking what he needed to do. Jigsaw's clue rattled around in his head: "As they say, an eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. And remember, he who casts the first stone."

"Oh my god," Hoffman said, breathless. "You want me to take my eye out? My tooth?" The re-designed reverse bear-trap allowed just enough room for the pliers to reach in and rip the tooth out from the back of his mouth. Hoffman began tearing the tooth out of the back of his mouth.

*Camera starts whirling around the room as the clock continues to count down*.

"Arghhhhhh," cries Hoffman, 30 seconds. "Fuck you".

Hoffman wrenched the tooth out of his mouth. Feeling dizzy, he proceeded to turn over the tooth, revealing a number on the side. 6. Hoffman then grabbed the stone, throwing it at the mirror. Behind the mirror, a number was on the piece of paper. 4. Two numbers. Hoffman needed two more. 15 seconds was displayed on the countdown timer.

"Fuuuuuuuuuck"

The eye for an eye clue was now obvious. Jigsaw had marked an 'X' on one of Hoffman's eyelids, signifying which eyelid to remove. Having smashed the mirror into tiny shards of glass, Hoffman dropped to his knees, searching for a large enough shard to see which eye had the 'X'. The underneath of the eyelid would contain two numbers, which would have completed the set. The four numbers needed to be entered into the safe in order of lowest to highest.

1 second left on the clock. Hoffman looked up to the ceiling, for he knew that he had not completed the task, thus awaiting the inevitable. Billy The Puppet stopped laughing.

The bear trap flew backwards, causing catastrophic damage Hoffman's lower jaw. His jaw dislocated as his head flew backwards, splitting his cheeks on each side, leaving his tongue exposed. Blood began spritzing from the holes in Hoffman's remains. The knife activated and slid with speed and intensity into Hoffman's jugular vein, causing severe blood loss - the nail in the proverbial coffin so to speak - he was dead, but the blade ensured he couldn't escape the game without winning it legitimately. Hoffman's limp body fell to the ground. John smiled, although shed a tear for his wife as he gazed through a peephole he had drilled in the wall for his premium, front row seats.

Billy The Puppet began laughing.

HeHeHeHeHaHaHaHaHeHeHeHeHeHaHaHaHaha

*Saw music plays*  
*JIGSAW: PART 2* 


	2. Chapter 2: Mixing Up Results

Chapter 2: Mixing Up Results

Logan Nelson was a quiet, unassuming man. The type who would do anything for you, even if it meant risking his own plans, priorities or even his own health. For John Kramer, Logan was the man who could prevent him from dying. Logan was literally John's cure for cancer – or should have been. Logan, a war veteran turned medic was responsible for John's prognosis. The symptoms had been excruciatingly painful headaches combined with a lack of sleep – classic signs of a frontal lobe tumour.

Nelson had his own personal demons to contend with. His experience of Iraq was unsettling to all but the most desensitised of war veterans from both sides of the Atlantic Ocean.

*** Flashback to the Iraq, 2003 ***

The United Kingdom are the brains behind most wars. The world sits back and thinks the United States are a disgrace, a corrupt form of world police, but that's a lie. A perpetual lie uttered enough becomes the truth for untrained ears. The SAS (Special Air Service) are the UK's elite combat force. Formed in 1941, the SAS motto "He Who Dares Wins" hinting that the force will dare to do anything you can think of, and things you can't imagine, or think of, to win.

Failure is not an option for the SAS. And in 2003, Nelson wouldn't be getting an opportunity to fail, as failure meant only one thing in war: death.

*** Time 08:00, Location: Undisclosed Training Camp ***

"Get on the floor Nelson. Give me 100," said Razor. Razor's true identity was concealed by the SAS as he had racked up the most brutal kills and his squad worshipped him for it – he had saved hundreds of civilian lives, and taken hundreds of enemies' lives in the process. Nelson wasn't fat per se, but he was a medic, and wasn't required to be a formidable force. As long as he could shoot in a straight line, he was good. That didn't fly with the SAS.

"99, 100," Nelson screamed.

"Get up. Now listen and listen close. We're about to go into the unknown. You Americans are all the same. You run and gun and ask questions later. You wanna know the difference between me and you? We ask before we shoot. That way, we get the answers before we kill the bastards. You never find out the answers."

It was clear that this highly-specialised killing force was focused on one thing: completing the mission and making sure it was known that they were the ones in charge. The briefing was about to begin. Razor stepped up to the front of the room, a black balaclava covering his face, covering what was no doubt a mean, frightening mug. A short, stocky man joined Razor at the helm.

"You all know what we're going to do tonight. But let's run over it one more time," said Razor. "Bowden, you're up."

Bowden was Razor's right-hand man. A man's man. A beer-drinking, tough son of a gun with a list of achievements as long as your arm and leg combined.

"Intel shows that Aziz Ahundi is holding Agent Akmed underground, beneath the DMZ. We must make it to the extraction point with Agent Akmed alive. Capeesh," explained Bowden. "Ahundi must be killed. He cannot survive under any circumstances. If he lives, we might as well put a bullet in our own brain. Bowden is our sniper, Corey is our lookout, Rum is our translator. I am the crazy guy who is going to shoot the enemy at point blank – and the American over here is the medic. Any issues, go to him, or if you can't go to him, he will come to you, wont you Nelson?"

"Sir, yes Sir!"

Nelson's job was to do what he did best and save people wherever possible. Except this time, he had to save people whilst on the move, under heavy enemy fire whilst this squad of trained assassins were attempting to take out the leader of a well-funded terrorist group and save Agent Akmed and make it to the extraction point with the entire team alive and well. It was clear Akmed wasn't the real name of the guy they were saving. It was just a codename, for those with a need to know. Nelson wasn't a high enough rank to know who the target was.

*** Time 16:00, Location: Unknown ***

That night, the mission officially began. Corey's job had been to scout the area and be on the lookout for any threats. Whilst he gave the green light, he wasn't sure it would be as straight-forward as expected. Nelson wasn't privy to the reasons why, the SAS were hiding something from him. Corey made it to the extraction point well before the events would unfold. The team now consisted of Razor, Bowden, Rum and the medic, Nelson. The United States Air Force had began their "running" missions – that was, their aerial assault on Baghdad. That was for the media – the reason why the US got bad press was so that the SAS could hide away from the spotlight and carry out their mission without being held accountable for an assassination and rescue. The sky was lit up like a Christmas tree, except it wasn't Christmas, and this wasn't a time for celebration.

The SAS were dressed up in Middle-Eastern robes – used clothing, designed for them to blend in. Four members of the squad along with Nelson began the infiltration. Peering through a window of a darkened armoured vehicle, the team looked at each other, and then the map that was hanging on the rear of the heavy-duty, industrial made seats. The blue line represented the route to take, the red x marked the assassination, the WP represented the waypoint – which was, a signal to the ops team that the mission was 50% complete, and the smiley face, which was a gouranga "smiley". Gouranga was a symbol of happiness and light which held deep symbolism within the regiment. In plain English – gouranga was the point in which the RAF would be waiting to extract the team.

"He who dares," said Razor. "He who dares."

First, Rum snuck out of the truck. He began making his way to the entrance to the large, intricately designed building just outside of the centre of Baghdad. The mission had to be carried out on foot, as men dressed as Arabs, driving around in a bulletproof transport truck, armed to the teeth with modern 21st century weaponry designed to kill hundreds, if not thousands of people within seconds might cause some suspicion amongst the locals. Rum was to seek shelter from the bombing raids that the US Air Force and British RAF were conducting just a couple of miles away.

Arabic prayers were being audibly recited on speakerphone for everyone within the vicinity to hear. Flocks of people heard the calls to prayer and began descending on the Mosque. The mission couldn't have been going any better, until Rum was challenged.

"Why you wearing shoes?" Inquired the Mosque's bouncer-like receptionist.

"I take them off, I take them off," Rum muttered as he removed his shoes. "Off. See?"

The receptionist took a second look at Rum before mentioning for him to enter the building. Rum entered and whispered "I'm in" on his neatly concealed radio-unit, which was able to transmit back to the rest of the team.

"Ok, let's await the signal." Bowden said, eager to join Rum in the field.

"She's here."

That was it. Rum had infiltrated the hideout. Beneath the Mosque, Al Qaeda operatives were holding captured Westerners, all of whom looked teary eyed and out of it, following their daily beatings which served as preparation for the screen time they were about to receive. Scores of Western women were being auctioned by the terrorist group. Prices being put on their heads for their survival.

"Agent Akmed is female? I thought it was a guy," Nelson said, his voice sounding ever more confused as he followed Bowden and the team out towards where Rum was now located. Rum was now making his way towards the women. So far, security had been lax, excluding the brief interaction he had made with the receptionist.

"Rum, give me an update" asked Razor as he clutched his firearm. Bowden was making his way up to an adjacent building, ready to use his L115A1 rifle to take out anyone who stood in their way. Age, gender – it didn't matter – the mission had been clear – anything, or anyone who compromises the mission eats a bullet. Suddenly, gunshots were heard on the team radio.

"Rum?"

The team knew Rum had been uncovered. But how? It would later turn out that Rum's shoes were of British branding, and inside the sole of his left shoe was a GPS tracker, inside his right shoe, a blade with a serrated edge. Rum had been wearing those shoes because he had no other weapons. The receptionist wasn't your average receptionist – instead, an anti-Western insurgent who had allowed Rum to go down into the dragon's den without question.

The Razor and Nelson made their way to the Mosque. They were wearing flip-flops – perhaps not the most suitable for desert warfare, but they blended in with the crowds. The loudspeaker continued uttering the prayers to anyone who cared to listen. All of a sudden, gunshots were fired.

"Rum is dead. They've moved the hostages onto the building around the back. Can you see it?" Bowden explained.

"Fuck!" whispered Razor. "We've got no time. Let's get busy."

The terrorist group had now marched hostages to the roof and were planning to throw them off, one by one until the US and UK made their payments to off-shore, shady bank accounts which were off-limits from the Western world. Bowden took aim at Ahundi, who was a large, rather muscular fellow who was holding Agent Akmed.

"Nelson, stay there. Don't follow me up the building." Razor demanded.

Nelson did as he was told, although he decided the best place to be, was pitching himself so he could just make out the hostages. If one should fall, he would have to attend to them, should they survive the 15ft drop whilst their hands were tied behind their backs. Razor had by now, made his way to the rooftop, risking his own life as he ascended the myriad of stairs to resurface at the top.

Razor took aim at Ahundi, who had earned the nickname _muscles_ ; his role seemingly the executioner of the group. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, he heard Nelson below shouting.

"Behind you!" Nelson screamed.

A knifeman had appeared before even Bowden could catch him, slashing Razor's exposed arm. Despite Nelson being defenceless, he knew his duty was to ensure that the team were alive. He hauled ass towards Razor, with the intent of tending to the flesh wound and stop any blood loss. The knifeman again plunged his dagger towards Razor. "Hold on, hold on," Nelson thought. "I'm on my way."

"Guys we need to abort this mission," Bowden stated as he was watching Nelson make his way up the old, sandy, yellow-stone steps through his crosshair, meanwhile Razor was battling a mad-man. Bowden proceeded to hold the gun steady, take a deep breath to steady the gun before taking the shot and splattering the innards of the knifeman's head on the old stone surroundings. Razor then ran towards the butch bodybuilder, Aziz Ahundi.

"Don't come any closer. I'll kill the girl," threatened Ahundi. As the girl in question was the hostage they had been seeking. She was wearing a full body veil to mask her identity, but the team who who she was, aside from Nelson, who had now reached the heights of the building.

Nelson now stood behind Razor. Bowden was hesitant to take the shot. Something seemed off. "Take it," Nelson whispered, hoping Bowden would hear his orders on the microphone. The veil was then grabbed from Agent Akmed's head, revealing the true identity of Agent Akmed.

"Christine?" Shouted Nelson. Logan's wife was revealed beneath the veil.

"Oh you didn't know? Watch me kill her!"

Bowden took the shot just as Ahundi had raised a dagger, ready to stab Logan's wife.

"RUN," screamed Razor. Ahundi had several grenades strapped to his vest. Razor and Logan ran for cover, with Christine attempting to join them. The blast shredded Christine's leg, but she was alive. She was dragged away as Bowden proceeded to pump another shot into Ahundi's brain, or what was left of it after the first shot.

*** Present day ***

With Mrs. Nelson now safely back home, and reflecting the loss of Rum, it almost felt like it was an exchange of lives. The war in Iraq continued and other SAS missions took place, always under complete secrecy. Nelson gave up his life as a medic serving for his country – the mental stress was more than any man could imagine. If the strategy had gone any further off kilter, then he wouldn't have been able to deal with seeing the love of his life fall to an early death. It was bad enough that she now used crutches to get around.

It was the histopathology that had lead Christine to Iraq. She had been teaching her profession to a bunch of teenagers with rich parents; sons and daughters of oil tycoons who wanted the best of the best to teach. The salary Christine was receiving in the US was good, but just couldn't compare to what she had been offered in Iraq. Besides, the Umbrella Health Insurance contract was immoral and she just couldn't take what she considered to be fraudulent money from dying patients.

It was John Kramer who had visited Umbrella's management with what he believed would help give him another chance at life. When they refused to help, despite taking every single payment he had ever made to them, he was introduced to Logan Nelson. Logan Nelson's wife, Christine had been murdered shortly after she returned from Iraq by a man named Edgar Munsen – yet another drug addict with habit to feed. Christine was assaulted at gunpoint by Edgar, who managed to steal just $10 before leaving her dead at the scene. Post-traumatic stress disorder affected Logan in the worst way possible. His subconscious ate away at him, leaving behind a shadow of a man, complete with a lack of sleep and suicidal thoughts.

It was no surprise, really, that Logan mixed up John's scan. Logan was only attending work so it gave him the little purpose that it did to live on. If it wasn't for John attending regular check-ups, Logan probably would have given up long ago – the chair and rope was in position, ready for if and when he felt the urge to give up. Logan knew just how much John wanted to live and for that reason alone, he wanted to do everything within his power to help. After-all, he was a still very highly regarded medical professional, despite all of the challenges life had thrown at him.

John had tested Logan for the scan mix-up, and then recruited him to continue his legacy, predicting that he may not have long left on this earth. Upon recruiting Logan, it soon became apparent that all was not as it seemed, and that Logan had a been hiding something. It was a secret that even long-time detectives couldn't fathom. A secret so sinister, that John decided that this would not be the last encounter with Logan. It would not be long before Logan would be forced to make a choice.

*** Please subscribe. "Chapter 3 - The Cure for Cancer" coming soon ***


	3. Chapter 3: The Cure for Cancer

Chapter 3: The Cure for Cancer

 _Patient Name: Kramer, John_

 _Identification No. 1345-9874-OW-A23_

 _Date: 03/24/04_

 _Physician: Dr. Lawrence Gordon_

 _ **History:**_ _Diagnosed with an Inoperable Frontal Lobe Tumor or Glioblastoma Multiforme of the left temporal lobe for which he underwent chemotherapy and external beam radiation therapy. He presented suddenly nine months later with progressive aphasia and right-sided hemiplegia._

The medical report was enough to cause someone to have a heart attack. Ironic, as the inoperable tumour would also lead to death. It seemed that there was no way out. Death was on its way. The grim reaper was laughing as he picked up his recently sharpened blade and dragged it on the cold, wet concrete before lurching towards Kramer. John's dreams were getting worse. He didn't want to leave behind Jill, who was due to give birth to their son, Gideon within a couple of months.

*** Flashback ***

The name Gideon was derived from the Gideon Meatpacking Plant designed by John back when he was on top of his game in the civil engineering world. The GMP was John's first building and was a roaring success; the local newspapers praised him for bringing business back to the community and in turn, help Art Blank to get his name out there. Both John and Art formed the Urban Renewal Group, which was a foundation to help low earners succeed in getting their own homes. Soloman Bates had helped to get the URG up and running, but John didn't care for him too much.

Soloman was a weasel who liked to help drug dealers store their cash in off-shore accounts in return for a little bit of the proceeds, which he'd then buy from the dealers at a reduced rate. The gangs couldn't turn him down – they got to shift their funds and more of their product, whilst Art Blank was there as backup if a lawyer was ever needed; Art was no angel. If there was money to be made, Art would defend you if you'd killed his own dog.

John was sitting at a café just a few blocks down from the GMP when he got a call from Art.

"Listen, John. We need to talk about the Urban Renewal Group, ok? But before we do, I need to speak to a guy named Ivan, ok? Soloman introduced me to him and I need to get him acquitted. Let me come meet you, we'll speak to Ivan, then we'll talk business?"

"Art, I don't want to be the fly on the wall for one of these scumbags you defend." John stated, clearly so that Art knew where he stood.

"I'm on my way. We haven't got much time, let's get this done. I'll bring Solomon to make it all a little more comfortable."

Soloman turned up to the café along with Art. As per usual, Art looked slick as ever, with his expensive suit, frizzy hair and cocky walk. His over-confident smile was overbearing and beginning to get on John's nerves. The sight of those pearly white teeth, those piercing blue eyes and the overpowering cologne was Art to a tee.

Soloman was wearing a pinstripe suit; he liked to compete with Art. The pair of them would wear expensive suits and try to outdo the other. It was ridiculous and getting less funny every time they met up, but John still enjoyed sniggering at them like they were a pair of fools. Out of the corner of John's eye, a rotund man was walking towards the café.

"Let me guess. That him?" John asked, pointing to the plump gentleman making his way to the bar.

"Ivan Landsness!" Soloman said, standing up with his hand out, ready to greet the fellow. The pair shook hands before business started.

"Nice to meet you Ivan, my name is Art. Now keep your voice down, we're in a public area, but you need to tell me what you've got going on? If I don't get complete honesty, we're off."

Ivan looked sheepish and was sweating buckets. There was something off with his character. The guy also smelled funny, as if he hadn't bathed in weeks.

"I did a few, but not all of them." Ivan responded.

"Did a few, what?" John asked.

"Well I work in the hotel. I just get myself in trouble sometimes but I'm not a bad person."

John explained that he didn't want to know what Ivan had done to make him ask Solomon to get Art involved.

"I've got a court case coming up. I need your help. Some girls in the hotel got drunk, climbed in bed with me now they're saying I raped one of them. I already got an investigation for murder going on, ya know?"

"And did you?" Interrupted John.

The four men looked at each other, shocked John had asked what they were all thinking, or shocked because John was suggesting there was a chance Ivan might possibly be innocent. Ivan wouldn't know right from wrong if he was singing a hymn in Church or bashing someone's head in with an iron. Ivan was guilty as charged, but he'd deny it until Kingdom come. Ivan was a prolific liar who had screwed over many people in the past, present and he was determined to keep lying in future, too. He was a serial rapist who enjoyed voyeurism. He'd kill his victims to stop them talking, or take photographs of their brutal assaults so that he could threaten to release the photos to their family and the world, should things go any other way than how he wanted them to go.

"I got money. I'll pay you Art, just get me off these charges. If I don't have a hotel job, I don't got money. And if I don't got money, I've got no life. I'll die, Art."

Ivan was a deplorable deviant, not only had he raped women and stole their dignity, he stole their cash too – Ivan had amassed large sums of money by stealing credit cards and petty cash from his victims. Art wanted it all. That's how Art worked. John watched as the group exchanged details and Ivan went on his way. John made a mental note – Ivan would likely get his charges dropped once Art started as his defence lawyer, so perhaps Ivan would need a chance to redeem himself later down the line. John was pissed that Art and Solomon were so corrupt and went to walk away from the table.

"John, where are you going?" Solomon asked.

"Away from you two. You know, I can't believe you're willing to defend scum like him. He doesn't let people live their lives. He's a cold-blooded murderer, but to you two, you just see dollar signs, don't you?"

Art chimed in with a response about how important the Urban Renewal Group was. John had seen enough of Art and Solomon for tonight, so he returned to the old, stained wooden stool he had been sitting on before picking up his luke-warm mug of coffee and taking a sip.

"You know. I think it's time to close the Urban Renewal Group." John said, placing the pearl-white mug down, gazing at his co-founder. Solomon and Art shrugged as John walked away, presuming he would be back apologising to them. John had no intention of ever working with the two men; associating with criminals is one thing, but defending murderers and rapists was another.

Later that day, John received a phone call from Dr. Lawrence Gordon. Gordon had asked John to visit the Angel of Mercy hospital because the results were ready.

"John, please ask for Logan at the reception. He will give you your scan results and then I need to speak to you."

John made his way to the hospital which was situated downtown, just a short ride out of the city centre. After pacing around the waiting room, John was called in by Logan. Logan didn't seem particularly well. From a mental perspective, he wasn't fit to be working. He tried to hide it but the recent death of his wife, along with his post-traumatic stress, he wasn't at his best. The results were crushing – how could it be that Ivan, an overweight murderer was in relatively good health and John had an inoperable brain tumour. Just before John left the office, Logan warned John about Gordon.

"John, I've known you for a while now. I know this isn't exactly any of my business, so please, just keep this between me and you. Gordon has been, well, a little touchy recently. He said he has problems at home. His wife, I guess. I don't know why I'm even telling you this. Just, just don't let him treat you the same way he treats us. Anyway, I'm glad you joined the Health Insurance scheme, it's a good move John, a good move."

John thanked Logan and made his way to see Dr. Gordon, as Gordon had instigated that the pair meet following the scan. Dr. Lawrence's office was clean. Meticulously clean. Gordon didn't seem to be as obsessed with Carla as Logan had suggested, but it was clear that there was some animosity between the two doctors.

"What's with Logan?" John quizzed Lawrence.

"Oh him? What has he been telling you? The damn guy had Zep following me around. Said I was acting strange. Can I let you into a secret John? And please, don't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you. I'm getting real suspicious of Logan."

"Well, I guess my tumour can wait."

"I'm sorry John, it's just that. Oh god, I don't know how to tell you this."

"I'm dying? It's ok, we've got to enjoy every second we've got, doctor."

"No. Logan has been stealing cash from the hospital. Some elaborate scam with a guy called William. I'm not sure of his surname, he works for Umbrella. You know, the Medical Insurance company?"

John's eyes opened wide, inviting Gordon to tell him more. Gordon sat down opposite John, looking highly important with a stethoscope around his neck, hanging over the blue shirt and ivory-white lab coat he was wearing.

"Well, you see, Logan has been referring patients to this William guy, William Easton I think it is. He asked me to refer you in return for a cut of the profits. It's a big scam, let me tell you. So the way it works, is that I refer you, you pay masses of money into William's insurance company and when you die, I get a percentage of the money you've paid in. William targets people who don't have long left. Most insurance companies want healthy people, but William preys on the other half of society, those who aren't healthy."

John was burning up inside. Logan had already referred him to William's insurance policy, and he had, as Gordon said, been paying significant amounts of money for the privilege. John told Gordon he was already a member, and Gordon devised a plan right then and there on the spot.

"I'm sorry John. I didn't mean for this to ruin your day. First your results and now this. I just like to operate ethically and Logan isn't doing things by the book."

"Why don't you report him? What's stopping you, Dr. Gordon?"

"I'm a professional, ok? I've got no secrets, John. And I don't want to report a colleague. He was the one who hired me for pete's sake. I _can't_ report him, but I've got another idea. Here's my plan. We'll figure out if William really is a crook. I've found some new research about a new form of treatment for your condition. There's this Professor, located over in Norway. All you need to do, is read up on his research and go ask William if he'll invoke your insurance to pay for the treatment. Once you, or we, get a response, we'll have proof that William is a fraudster."

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. In walked Dr. Adam Heffner, a pathologist and one of Gordon's closest friends.

"John, meet Adam. He's my most loyal friend in this place. We go back years. If you ever need anything, just ask him."

After shaking hands, John began quizzing Heffner. It turned out that Heffner was working for the Metropolitan Police Department and usually got tasked with autopsies on folks who had been murdered, killed or who had committed suicide – the gory ones.

"I'm glad I've not seen that porter around here tonight. What's his name again? Zepp?" Heffner knew all about Zepp – it seemed like everyone did. Zepp was a quiet guy, who not only looked like a mouse but acted like one. He'd notice whether you'd brushed your hair that day or drank liquor the night before – he'd literally sniff you like a rat, so he had the ability to report you had you drank a bottle of bud before your shift. But Zepp would only report you if you did something he didn't like, such as asking him to perform a task he didn't like.

John stood up abruptly, causing Dr. Gordon and Heffner to look at him, wondering whether he was going to lash out, or quietly walk away.

"Heffner, can you and I speak, for a moment?"

Heffner obliged John's request and the two of them began talking privately. Gordon was unable to hear the exact conversation, but it revolved around the death of John – as Heffner was the man to talk to about autopsies and organ donation, Gordon thought nothing of it, and returned to his work.

"Ah, so you know about Logan's scam. Well don't you worry, I'm the one who talked Gordon out of it. He was considering it, but only because he's worried Logan is going to break up his family."

"Break up his family how? My god, I thought you were all medical professionals, yet here we are, debating fraud. I can't seem to get away from you people."

"John, I can assure you. I deplore financial fraud," Heffner explained. "I hate the fact Logan tried to get Dr. Gordon involved, but I can't report it. Logan has threatened Gordon with exposing him for cheating on his wife. You better not divulge this to Gordon, but he has been having an affair with a girl called Carla. If I spill the beans on Logan, I break up Dr. Gordon's family. He _loves_ his family."

"Loves them more than the poor, dying humans that Logan is profiting off?" John retorted, squinting, awaiting Heffner's response.

"John, I understand your position. I want you to live. What can I do to help you? Whatever you want, just say the word and it's as good as done."

John and Heffner continued talking for some time, before the pair nodded in agreement, shook hands, and went their separate ways, without saying goodbye to Dr. Gordon.

*** The following events take place during Saw V: ***

"Hello Detective Fisk. If you're listening to this, you will be attending a very bloody scene. One man will walk out unscathed, with a child named Corbett. Corbett is the daughter of Jeff Denlon – who is likely dead. Isn't it strange how this guy is becoming something of a _hero._ The hero who asked you to keep him informed following the death of Seth Baxter, the man responsible for the murder of Angelina. But you look up to and trust your colleagues, don't you? I urge you to ask the first man to walk out of the building about how many survivors there are. An honest man has nothing to hide."

Hoffman walks out the building holding Corbett, who was wearing her favourite purple pyjamas whilst the police sirens wailed in the background. The blue and red flashes highlighting John's "Gideon Meat Packing Receiving" signpost. Hoffman had little more than a bloody nose as he placed Corbett on the ground.

"Where's my Dad?" Corbett asked.

"He's going to be ok" Hoffman lied, staring the girl in the face, as if that would make his words all the more believable.

Fisk came running towards Hoffman, remembering what John's tape had said.

"Are you able to walk? What the hell happened? Where's Rigg?"

"I tried to help. He didn't make it. Nobody made it." Hoffman lied yet again.

In that instance, a voice could be heard loud and clear, "We got a live one!". Agent Strahm was being escorted to the back of the ambulance. Fisk was confused. Everything John had said, had came true. Now should he venture into the building? There was no need. Hoffman had either lied, or he had no idea about Peter being alive – that is, if he was alive and the paramedics had been able to save him on his way to the hospital. Detective Fisk looks at Hoffman, squinting as if it would help him to decipher whether Hoffman was hiding more.

*** The following take place after Saw 3D ***

*** Gordon is showed to turn the lights out on Detective Hoffman ***

"Game over"

***Flashback to conversation with Heffner and Gordon ***

"Gordon, I promised you no secrets. So this is what needs to happen. I need you to follow these orders exactly as I lay them out in front of you. I told you to act immediately if anything happens to Jill. Well, something is likely to happen, soon."

"And why don't we stop it?"

"I have something in place for Hoffman. I have gave Jill a box for after my _death._ She will know what needs to be done."

"Your death?"

"Yes, Doctor Gordon. In order for me to have the Norwegian fly here to treat me, I need to be _dead_. The contract I signed with William says that if I die, Jill gets a payout. In my will, I have left the Gideon Meat Packing plant to Jill. She has already found a buyer who will pay as soon as word spreads that I am no longer alive."

*** Flashback prior to Saw: 1 ***

"I need a favour of you Solomon. I require a mask. Think Freddy Kruger, or Jason Voorhees. All of the best guys have one. Why can't I?"

"I know a plastics guy, he does 3D modelling, silicone, he can hook you up?"

"That sounds like just what the doctor ordered."

*** Scenes showing a 3D model of John being made to look as if he was dead. Whispy white hair filled his head. A surgical cut to relief pressure on the brain had been made. The _dead John_ looked perfect – enough to fool anyone who wasn't paying complete attention. ***

"This will likely be useful in future." John said, smirking, impressed by the civil engineering brain he possessed.

*** Scene returns to John, Dr. Gordon and Dr. Heffner ***

"Dr. Gordon. This may be the final thing I ask of you. If Jill is dead, then you, along with another two men of your choosing, must overpower Hoffman, and place him somewhere that means something to you."

"Dr. Heffner. You have the most important task of all. You are to use the silicone body I have had created with excruciatingly intricate detail. This body is to be filled with organs of another corpse in the morgue. You are to make it look like I am truly dead."

"John, this is crazy talk, but i'll do it."

"And one more thing, Doctor Heffner. Detective Fisk has a decision to make. I have been able to psychologically infiltrate his mind and he now suspects Hoffman. If Fisk ignores the signs that he is standing next to the Jigsaw Killer after Hoffman walks out with the girl, and chooses to walks into the building, you will drug him whilst wearing the pig mask. My son Gideon was due to be born in the year of the pig – that mask _must_ be worn."

"Gordon. Whilst Heffner is keeping watch on Fisk, I need you to be inside the building, ready to tend to me urgently, should I be assaulted by any of the players. I will take precautions to minimise any harm on my person."

Heffner and Gordon were making mental notes of John's requests, for this was to be his most well-thought out plan, and the blueprint was incredibly complex – complex enough to fool Hoffman, one would hope.

"And finally, Heffner. I will appear to swallow a tape at some point during the game. The tape is a blank. The real tape is in the bag I slipped into your jacket pocket as we began talking earlier tonight. This tape must be found in the stomach of the dead _me._ All that said and done, I will be able to finance the Doctor from Norway to allow me to be his test subject for his experimental cure for my condition. And that, is the cure for cancer."

*** Saw IV , V, VI, 3D – Explained ***

John Denlon lifted up the saw, intending to cut John's throat. In his blind rage, he didn't manage to see John pressing a button which was connected to the barely visible contraption he had wired around his neck. As John promised he had taken several small, precarious steps of preventing his own death. The step John employed, was having Amanda replace the steel-bladed Saw with a plastic, foam-tipped Saw following Dr. Lynn Denlon's decompression on John's brain. Solomon's connect had also made a paper thin, silicone fitting for John to wrap around his own neck. The skin-colourisation made the silicone all but invisible to the naked eye.

John Denlon started up the blade and slashed it across John's throat. The foam tips just covered the plastic, so little pain was felt as the foam grazed the silicone, as John pressed the 'blood button', causing copious amounts of blood to squirt out of his neck. John Denlon stood, triumphant as his wife knew that she would be dead any second now. John then swallowed what looked like a tape, but was in fact, cleverly concealed sleeping tablets to help to knock him out temporarily, for what happened next, would be the showstopping finale he had hoped for.

Heffner, seeing that Fisk hadn't yet made his way into the building, made his way to the back of the Meat Packing Plant where the car was waiting. Dr. Gordon brought in the silicone body and placed it on the surgical bed, helping a tired, ill John to Heffner's getaway car. The cure for cancer would be a medical success, although substantial amounts of money had been paid to keep the results of the trial a secret.

John believed that Heffner would almost definitely call the cops on John's fraudulent death once he came to his senses, so he had devised a way for Hoffman to kill Heffner following the autopsy. Jill's task, was now to kill Hoffman, thus ending the game. To John's eternal shame and sadness, Hoffman had killed Jill. It was now time for Dr. Gordon and his accomplices to capture Hoffman. John returned, free of cancer, alive, to test Hoffman one final time.

*** Flashback to Chapter 1: Hello Hoffman ***


End file.
